


Indecision

by InsaneJul



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Aphrodisiacs, Crack Treated Seriously, Healthy Relationships, M/M, Temple of Procreation
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-25
Updated: 2017-09-21
Packaged: 2018-11-18 23:53:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,672
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11301435
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/InsaneJul/pseuds/InsaneJul
Summary: Tucker activated the temple of procreation. That idiot. (I may add more to this!)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> in which Tucker really doesn't know what happened and the rest of us are dealing with planetwide aphrodisiacs.

            “Why is everyone acting so weird all of a sudden?”

            Washington was sitting on the floor, head in his hands. There were noises coming from a storage closet not too far off that was not enough like banging on the door begging to escape. Carolina slammed her firsts against the wall and Caboose was…running wild. Which wasn’t unnatural, but it seemed even more frantic than usual.

            “AAAAAAHHH IT’S SO WEIRD! IT’S JUST SO WEIRD! WHAT IS HAPPENING! I THINK I’M DYING MAYBE! OR MAYBE I SWITCHED BODIES WITH FRECKLES!”

            “Seriously, what is going on?” Tucker snapped. “You guys started going all ape-shit the minute we got into this new temple.”

            “You activated it, you dumbass!” Carolina yelled. “It’s gotta be the fucking—the fertility one. Didn’t you say there was one?”

            “Yeah, but how can you tell?”

            There was a very loud thump from what sounded like _directly on the closet door_ that basically confirmed it.

            “Dammit, who’s in there?!” Tucker shouted, but before he could reach for the door, Wash mumbled from the floor.

            “I would not recommend opening that.”

            “Why? Who’s in—“

            “Grif and Simmons.” Caboose interjected from down the hall—how did he do that?

            “OH MY GOD. NO. NO.”

            Someone groaned inside the closet. “AW HOLY FUCK! NO!” Tucker started running the other way, but ended up just tripping over Wash, who still hadn’t gotten up. “Fuck _you_ , Wash!”

            “Please do,” Wash muttered, then, before Tucker could get over the initial shock, he threw the aqua soldier across the room. “Get off!”

            “What the hell, you guys! Why is it affecting everyone but me?”

            “I think it’s because you’re just a pile of hormones on a _regular_ basis. For the rest of us…” Carolina groaned a little and stalked out of the room. “I’m taking some damn alone time.”

            Tucker laughed and called after her. “Yeah, girl, I _bet_ you are! You sure you don’t want me to join you, or—“

            He was cut off, however, by Agent Washington slamming him into the wall, face first. “Ow! Wash, what the hell!”

            “If you go anywhere…” Wash snarled, “with anyone, it’s going to be with me.”

            “Whoa, dude. That escalated quickly.”

            Caboose ran into the room and then back out, still screaming—they were not even human words anymore, as far as Tucker could tell. There was a loud thump from inside the closet.

            “I—I’ve decided I don’t care how freaky you’re being. Let’s get the fuck out of this room before that sexually-frustrated married couple fucks a hole in the wall.”

            Wash practically dragged him out of the room, as he babbled some awkward dirty jokes, trying to get it together in his mind that _Agent fucking Washington wanted to fucking fuck him_ , when Sarge passed by, carrying his shotgun—with a significantly higher amount of his tongue involved than usual. “Sorry boys,” he smirked, “Something weird’s goin’ on, over the whole planet! So I thought I’d take some time with my beloved shotgun until it all blows over.”

            “I…think I’ve seen everything, now,” Tucker scratched the back of his head, but before he could get his bearings, he had been pushed into a nearby storage closet—seriously, were there closets strategically placed in this temple because the aliens knew everyone was gonna fuck in here?—and fell flat on his face. “Jesus, Wash, calm the fuck down—“

            “This is so—so fucked up,” Wash helped him up, appearing to be slightly calmer. “I can’t even…stand it, it’s so fucking—I want to ask how it’s not affecting you, but I’m really not that surprised, I’m just fucking angry. I mean, it feels like—feels like crawling out of your skin.”

            Tucker shrugged. “Eh, it’s probably going to wear off soon enough.”

            “It doesn’t even let up! It’s worse than being in pain, it doesn’t come and go—shit, I’m going to kiss you.”

            “What?” Tucker said, before the former freelancer did just that. It wasn’t nice, or kind, either—it was _hard_ , he was being pushed backward again—why was Wash into that?—and fierce, and just…unbelievably dirty. So far from everything he’d expected from Wash, everything he could even imagine about Wash. It was terrifying, but he let it happen. Tucker couldn’t really say he didn’t like it—didn’t _really_ like it—but it seemed kind of unfair, what was happening. It was a fantastic kind of kiss, and he was pushing back as much as he could, but it still didn’t seem fair. Wash was totally out of control, and it must remind him, on some level, of the epsilon unit. Tucker didn’t want that. Wash always got so mopey and…even confused, when asked about it or thinking about it. Once that thought came to him, he was done.

            “Yo, Wash, hold it for a second.”

            “You better have a damn good reason.”

            “Look, as much as this is totally fucking awesome, you’re also _totally fucking out of your mind_ right now. And I don’t wanna be the one to say it, but…epsilon, okay? I don’t want you to get all fucked up like that again. I don’t wanna make you like that again. So maybe you should…make like Carolina and…take some alone time?”

            “Seriously?” Wash stared at him, surprised, but something in his eyes was softening. “You’re making an adult decision to not have sex with someone?”

            “Surprising, I know. You’re my friend, and if you wanna do this with me, then like, hell yeah. But like, how about you figure that out after the crazy alien pheromones wear off?”

            Wash dragged himself away from Tucker, with a weary smile. “You do have a point. I’ll…take your advice.”

            “Okay. Yeah. Awesome. Hey, before you go…about Grif and Simmons…”

            “JUST LEAVE THEM.”


	2. Memories

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aftermath for the sexually-frustrated married couple.

            Simmons really wished he didn’t remember that whole episode.

            He and Grif didn’t even need to discuss it. The instant they were back to their senses, there would be no mention of what happened in the storage closet. Ever. It would be nice if everyone else could adhere to that rule, too! (Tucker, I never needed to know about the ladies being all over you, and I definitely didn’t need to know about _Wash_ being all over you.)

            No talking about it, no thinking about it, like it didn’t even happen.

            _Pressed up against the door, unable to think about anything except—_

No thinking about it.

            Caboose was the one who let them out, thankfully. They were mostly asleep on the floor, still half in their armor, and then a sliver of light appeared. A joyful shout, “I found them!” and then a blast of confetti.

            _The clatter of plate armor falling onto the floor, after fumbling with it for what felt like fucking hours—_

Sarge yells him right out of his reverie, dangerously close to hitting him in the head with a shotgun. “Are you even listening to me, Simmons? I was saying that waterparks are dumb and we should fight back against this injustice!”

            “Yeah, sure, whatever.”

            The older man stops and tilts his head. That creeps Simmons out almost every time. “What’s the matter with you, soldier? I was really hoping for that quality ass-kissing of yours!”

            “Maybe I’m done doing the ass-kissing thing. Pretty sure I was done a long time ago,” Simmons just sighs and leaves.

            _Very very hot mouth soft and hard at the same time no no don’t pull away—_

He’s trying to focus on this book about statistics. But he hasn’t made more than three pages of progress since that day. Every free moment gets filled up with these memories.

            _Being so completely full of—_

“The mistaken law of small numbers causes two related errors. The first is called the gambler’s fallacy…”

            “Hey Simmons!”

            Fuck.

            “Grif and I could really use your help! He really needs a guy in his hole right now!”

            “DONUT DO YOU HAVE TO SAY IT LIKE THAT I’M JUST TRYING TO EAT A PASTRY!”

            _Starting to forget where or who he is, warm hands on his skin so much larger than the circumference of his skinny ribs—_

Grif stumbles into the room holding a cream-filled doughnut, glaring behind him. “Sorry dude, you know how he gets.”

            “Yeah, I sure do.”

            “Hey,” he looks up. “Want half?” Grif is holding out a piece of doughnut oozing with cream.

            _Holding onto him while he comes, feels like he’s screaming, maybe he was—_

“What, are you dying or something? Offering someone else food?”

            Grif sniffs at him. “No, maybe you just looked hungry. Fuck off, dude.”

            “Fine,” Simmons hops out of his bunk. “I’m sure I have something to do somewhere else.”

            _There is nothing else nowhere else just here and this and hot breath on his throat and—_

“Wait, did I do something wrong? Why are you acting like this?”

            Simmons turns back around, Grif looks genuinely confused. His eyes are crinkled at the corners and he’s just holding the doughnut, still hasn’t put it in his mouth.

            “No, I’m just…my arm’s acting up and I’m kinda pissed,” Simmons lies through his teeth.

            “You want me to look at it?”

            _Metal arm twitches, steam out of his joints. Too hot, too much, not designed for this, he’s starting to panic—_

“Simmons?”

            _Then Grif’s pushing his fingers into the circuitry, Simmons too out of his mind to know what he’s doing, but the cooling system goes on high and he feels so much better but not nearly better enough—_

“No, I’ll get Dr. Grey. She’s been asking to play with it for months.”

            _How does he even know how to adjust it? Does it matter?_

            “Okay, man. See you later.”

            Simmons walks out, holding onto his arm for good measure.

            _Mixed media man. Metal and skin. It conducts heat so well that he almost forgets it’s there, until Simmons is stuttering out “fuck, arm, arm—“_

Grif shakes the memory out of his head, opting to focus on his too-long-neglected doughnut instead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally added another chapter! I knew I could make myself do it, lol.

**Author's Note:**

> Bet you thought, huh.


End file.
